


The heart of the forest

by GreyWeeknds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyWeeknds/pseuds/GreyWeeknds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn't what you usually calls a particular happy lad, to be honest, he's the total opposite. He's grieving a dead sister, a mother that doesn't love him, and a father that left him ten years ago.</p><p>When everything feels like it's going to crumble, he meets the first hope in his life. His name is Niall, and he saves him when he is at his lowest. But can Harry love him? Or is he too destroyed to even be capable to feel such a strong emotion?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The heart of the forest

_One, two, three, breathe in._ He looks at the blue pill that rests in his shaking palm, shimmering against the flashing fluorescent that hangs on roof. He can feel the craving feeling in his tongue, thoughts screaming that he should put it inside of his mouth and swallow it. It will make him happy, he hopes, it will make him free and he will never have to regret his life decisions ever again. It will take the pain away and lint up his dead brain that stopped working a long time ago.

 _Four, five, six, breathe out._ His fingers trails over the orange bottle, plastic touch his pale skin. It’s hard and cold, but it’s the only friend that he still has left. When his life stopped, his loved ones went in fast-forward. He couldn’t process how everything had gone so fast, and how he had just stopped growing. It was like somebody had paused him with a remote, while the whole word around was still on play.

 _Seven, eight, nine, ten… feel._ He had never thought that his life would turn out this way, that he would be all by himself, with no one in the world caring a single fuck about him. His mother was the person that should love him when nobody else didn’t. But she had hurt him too much in the past, and it was too late to heal what she already had broken apart.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was going to be the happiest time of his life, not the worst. He should have friends, party to the sunrise. He should have a girlfriend that he could shag whenever he wanted to, making her scream out his name in pleasure. He can’t comprehend why his reality isn’t like that, but all he knows is that it is his own fault.

The pill is almost looking at Harry, asking him whenever he had thought that he should take it. He wants to say; “I’m going to eat it now, and then I’ll change to this person that actually feels like he have a hope”. But he can’t, because he is a robot that just goes through the day, eating, sleeping, same thing every day, without a smile upon his lips.

He tried to eat once, but eventually he found no point to do continue doing it. If there was no one there who actually noticed if he did it or not, not even bothering to ask him why he suddenly lost nine pounds in the recent two weeks, there seemed to be no reason to put in that nasty fork that hadn’t been dished in ages, into his mouth and force himself into doing something he’s really didn’t want to do.

He remembers when his dad was still back home, before he cheated on his wife with his secretary and left his entire family by them own. He used to entwine his fingers with Harry’s small ones, rubbing his thumb against his hand as he walked into the forest five minutes from their home. It wasn’t just the trees that had made it look magical, but by just breathing the fresh and cold air into his lungs, you could see these floating water drops that sparkled against the sun.  _‘This is our secret Harry, just mine and yours’_ his father used to say. Even though he had shoved his hairy cock into another woman’s pussy, he had still been Harry’s favourite person in the world. It had felt like they had shared the same brain, understanding every thought that the other one had in their head, and made no judge into it.

It feels embarrassing to say that he misses his father, because it had been ten years since he last saw his face, but he really does. He misses the way his small hand fitted into the bigger palm. He misses the way he could hug him, bury his nose into the beard as he drew in the sweaty scent from his neck. And the thing he misses the most, is the way he could always tell him everything without having the feeling like he’s choking.

He draws his long fingers over his forearm, still feeling how it aches badly since yesterday. On the desktop the fountain pen is laying peacefully, empty of ink, but full of blood. It looks so nice, not as harmful as it actually is. He usually hides it together with his bottle of pills in a sock, the only place where nobody would ever look, if anybody would even care to search after it. Often it isn’t real sentences that he craves into his flesh, only words that pop up into his head. Like ‘ugly’ and ‘unloved’, similar words that describes peoples opinions about him.

He thinks about when his mother ate an orange earlier today. It made Harry vomit inside his own throat, hearing her slurp the fruit juice and seeing it drip down her chin. He shouldn’t be so disguised like he was, but he felt like he want to punch the shit out of her.

He’s supposed to love her, she’s the woman who gave birth to him that day seventeen years ago, but he doesn’t. There doesn’t pass a day without him wanting to say to her how much she makes his blood boil, and that he’d even be ashamed to be related to a relative who is similar like her. He wants to scream; “Fucking cunt, damn whore, nasty piece of shit, lying bitch’, but he can’t because he’s such a coward that he only replies “I’m tired, I think I’ll just go to bed’. It’s weird that she doesn’t seem to notice that Harry is so sleepy every single day, that he doesn’t eat anything and that her fridge is always as full like when she left it. But he guesses it’s the wine that makes her brain forget everything that is important, that it makes her stop loving the boy she once called her son.

It hurts to see the old and dusty photos of their family on the fireplace. To see those smiles that were real, or he had thought that at the time being anyway. It hurts to see that person in the frame that actually loved him, that took care of him when nobody else did. She; who hugged him when he cried at the dark and silent nights, nothing but his sobs that echoed through the walls as she patted his back.  _‘Gemma, oh Gemma. I miss you so, so, much. I wish you were here right now, so that you could tell me to stop cutting myself’_ he thinks. But of course she can’t tell him to stop, because she’s dead. Dead as the grave, dead as the corpse, dead as the deadest cemetery,  _dead, dead, dead._ She can’t tell him to stop destroying his arms, when she had done the same thing to herself that dark day. The difference from him and her was that she had been better to hide it, a smoother self-harmer. In some way he should be jealous of her, but all he could do is to grieve her. Cry over her rotting body; see flashes of skin being covered by blood and eyes being rolled back into her scalp.

He hits his forehead into the wall multiple of times, trying to get the voices in his mind disappear for only a second or two. But it is meaningless, because he isn’t supposed to forget. It is his fate to always remember the sister that had killed herself; the father who had left him, and the mother that had stopped loving him somewhere in between.

“My fault, it’s all my fault.” He mumbles as his head is smashed harder into the wall, hearing something crack. His hands are hitting the side of his ears, ranting that he could have stopped it. If he had just been a better brother, more observant, then Gemma would probably be still alive, hugging their mother before she’d take away the bottle that is waiting for Anne on the kitchen table.

He looks at his mother again, seeing her head being buried into her hands. He really wishes that he could feel sympathy for the pathetic woman. But all he feels is hatred, just wanting to spit at her and tell her how disgusting she really is.

Whenever he hear her whining voice, telling him to do stuff that he really doesn’t want to, his heart begins to beat a bit faster. It doesn’t even matter if he had the intention to do it afterwards; because after only a minute or two, she begins to scream at him that he never does what she asks him to. That he’s a selfish shit, and that if Gemma were still alive, she would do what Anne asks for.

 _“Eat me!”_ the blue pill screams.

“I’m going to eat you now, if you just shut the fuck up.” He mutters before he puts it on the tip of his tongue and then swallows it.

It doesn’t taste that bad like he had first thought, it doesn’t really taste anything. For a moment he doubts that it will actually make any difference on his behaviour, but then he feels this little warm feeling in his belly, like someone had rubbed it or put a flame into it. He doesn’t feel extremely happy, but it’s better than before. He reminds himself that he has to thank Zayn for his advice, and that he still has to pay the guy the money for the pills.

“Harry, come here! I want you to go out and by me some oranges.”

She waves the bill that she has taken out from her black wallet with her fingers, a smirk playing on her lips. He wants to tell her that he doesn’t want to buy her those fucking oranges, that it disgusts him more than anything he has ever seen before. But he only mumbles a small ‘okay’ before he takes the money from her fingers and puts on his worn shoes.

He looks up to the sky, a small raindrop hitting his cheek.  _‘It can’t literally go any worse today than it already has’_ Harry thinks before a car drives by him, mud washing over the left side of his body.

“Fuck!” he screams before he continues to walk on, his heart feeling heavier than normally.

-

“You’re the same son of a bitch like your father were!” his mother shouts, throwing a plate down on the floor as it breaks into million of pieces.

“Yeah, well you’re the same bitch who made me when you fucked that damn wanker.” he hisses back silently, not loud enough for her to actually hear him.

He can feel something wet sliding down his arm, and it takes a minute for him to process what it is that hurts so much. When he rubs his eyes once again, he notices it. It’s a piece of the porcelain, etched into his fragile skin. He stares at it with two wide eyes, he can’t comprehend the fact that his own mother, the woman that stands just two feet away, literally hurt him. When he meets her gaze she looks as shocked as him, eyes even bigger than his. At first she reaches her fingers towards him, but her touches feels like flames against his skin. He turns around swiftly before he flies up the stairs, his knuckles turning a nasty shade of grey.

He never wants to see her horrible face again. It’s not fair that he has to wait another year until he can move out of this shithole, a whole year until he finally becomes an adult. He doesn’t even care if he has to live on the streets, as long as he doesn’t have to be in her presence, then he will be okay.

He fucking hates her with all his gut, wouldn’t even cry if he found her lying dead on the floor. He’s so damn tired of all her excuses, all her lies. She doesn’t even see how much it pains him when she smiles at him drunkenly, legs wobbling like she has consumed the entire worlds amount of alcohol. She doesn’t know how much it makes him want to die when she’s a bit too touchy, messaging his shoulders and arms as she hisses into his ear that he’s such a ‘sweetheart’. The only time that his mother actually thinks that he’s worthy enough of her love is when she has drunken a half bottle of vodka.

He rubs his knees comfortingly; tries to persuade himself into not look at the black pen who’s staring blankly at him. But he can’t, his fingers itch too much and just a second later he finds his own hand holding the black shaft.  _‘Just this one last time’_ he thinks, but he knows it’s not going to be. This is just one of those one last times that he was going to cut himself. One time turns into two, and the suddenly it’s gone twenty times that he’s promising himself that he’s going to quit.

His heart hammers as he presses the tip roughly against his skin, writing down ‘same bitch as dad’. What if he ends up being just that, the same piece of shit like he was? What if Harry really is this lying and cheating scum that will one day abandon his family? He tries to hold back the tears, tries not to think about how much of a disaster he really is. He doesn’t even shed the tears because of it’s painful, well some part of him does, because it feels like knifes cutting through his flesh as the blood flows out of him. But he cries over that he’s always going to be the same, dumb, unlovable Harry.

The blood drops down on the white carpet, but for the moment he doesn’t really care. All he wants to do is to sleep away this whole miserable year, and then wake up and find out that this has just been a terrible nightmare, that his sister didn’t really die, and that his mother isn’t a drunk. And perhaps, if he can now make this fantasy by himself, then he’d put a father that would care about him in the picture as well. Maybe they would fight, yell angrily at each other sometimes, but they would be a real family at least.

-

Harry can’t really sleep that night, just like all the other nights the past year. He’s not awake when he’s in his bed, but certainly not asleep either. He just turns around on the sheets, murmurs inaudible groans as his chest goes up and down heavily. The sweat drops down his spine, and his toes clench worriedly together.

His body feels like it’s on fire, flames boiling his blood. His palms shivers and he can’t breathe in a normal pace. He doesn’t understand what it is that happens to him, why he feels so hot and shattered. His crotch feels really tight, and his hips thrusts in a rhythm that feels really  _good_. He doesn’t know what it is, but he feels ashamed of it.

He shouldn’t think that this is as pleasuring as it is. It’s not proper for a guy in his age, only seventeen, to having wet dreams, seeing naked bodies dancing around inside of his mind. And it’s a sin to imagine seeing naked  _guys_ in his dreams when he’s supposed to be attracted to girls, and not boys.

He feels how his cheeks blush fiercely, and he tells himself that it’s okay if it’s only Harry himself who knows his wrong and disgusting thoughts. That it doesn’t really do any harm if he doesn’t practice it in real life, or tells anybody else about it. If it only stays in his dreams, then it’s really not that dangerous.

-

His hand catches the paper plane that comes flying towards him; sheet meeting his skin that sends shivers to his bones. When he unfolds it, he sees that it’s a drawing of him. He has a massive head with a long and wide nose. His body is extremely thin and some of his teeth are missing too. Harry knows that he should not be so affected like he is, but he can’t help it. His whole inside suffer when he sees how ugly some of his classmates have drawn him, making him look even worse then he already is. When his eyes trail down on the bottom of the paper he sees something scribbled on it,  _‘Hairy Styles: psycho number one’._

It’s not fair that he’s so hated by everybody, that nobody likes him even a little bit. He doesn’t know what it ever was that he made to deserve such an evil punishment by them, all he ever was, was him being himself, but in the end that didn’t matter that much. It would probably have been better if he just would have been this fake Harry that everybody would find funny. He could’ve crack a joke sometimes, wear nicer clothes, and perhaps even flirt with some girl so that the others would at least tolerate him.

“So Styles, how’s it going at home? Still having that whore as a sister that's fucking around with every guy that lives in this damn town? No wait, she’s dead, isn’t she? She took her life because she was so damn tragic.”

_Dead as the deadest cemetery._

“Dude, don’t forget that alcoholic as a mother he has. My peers had to pick her up at the bar last week as she was vomiting over the whole floor.” Another guy adds as he puts his hand on his stomach because he’s laughing so hard.

“You’re just a pathetic loser.”

They can continue laughing at his despair, just go on. It’s not like it makes any difference anyway, it’s not like it’s going to make Gemma come back.

He just hides his head between his shoulders as his gaze is attached to the floor. His legs are almost floating on the air as he disappears away from them, still holding to the drawing in a strong grip.

 _‘Just throw it away Harry. It’s just a mean prank that those immature idiots think is really funny, nothing but a stupid picture’._ He thinks before he crumples it and lets it fall out of his fingers and down on the floor, not a sound being heard, but his heart being heavier than a stone.

He can almost see how the words begin to form on his skin, useless and ugly being craved like poetry into his arms. Blood dripping out of his body as the dizziness takes over his mind. He’s going to fly into the only world where he’s wanted, the only world that accepts him for who he is.

Before school is out he runs the fastest he can, his jaw clenching as his muscles aches painfully. If he just continues to run, then nobody will ever catch him, and he will be forgotten and stopped being hated.

It doesn’t take many minutes for him to reach the forest near his house, or the time just flies by without him noticing it. When he smells the fresh scent that occupies his nostrils, he lets his body fall down on the soft leaves that lie like a bed for him on the ground. It doesn’t even hurt when his head is being smashed against a tree; all he can think about is that he managed to escape them, those small devils.

His ears are surrounded by the sounds of animals talking to each other. And even though he doesn’t understand even the slightest word they say, he feels himself smiling, because he’s free now or at least for an hour until he has to meet his drunken mother that wants to hug him and kiss his bare chest as her glass is almost emptied of the red wine.

-

“So Harry, how have you been lately?” the old man says, correcting his glasses that have fallen down on the tip of his nose.

“Okay I guess.” He lies, not telling him the truth about how he today was thrown down in a dumpster, and that he had to spend the whole morning there until a teacher found him and scolded him for destroying the school’s property.

“Good, good.” He says as he takes down some notes.

Harry wonders what it is that he writes all the time about him. He’s probably writing something about him being a total nuthead, and that he’s some kind of danger to the society.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Ben about his problems, but he feels like he spares him the tragic if he just keeps his big mouth shut. And when it all comes down to it, he doesn’t really care about Harry’s day at all. Of course he would feel a bit of sympathy, that’s his job, but he has had thousands of kids like Harry before, so why would he be any special?

“So, how long do I have to keep going here? It’s not like I don’t appreciate to talk to you or anything, it’s just that I have a lot of schoolwork going on for the moment and I’m really stressed about it so… do I have to continue going to you?” Harry mumbles, words blending together.

“As long as you don’t tell me how you really feel, then I can’t let you go.” Ben blurts out.

He feels his eyes widening as he hears how honest the man suddenly is right now. He hadn’t expected him to notice that everything that he had said on their meetings had been nothing but pure lies.

“You see Harry; I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“But what if I don’t want your help`”

“Then there’s nothing left for me to do.” He sighs as he massages his bare scalp.

He only nods before he rises up from his chair and walks out from the office, feeling rather bad about himself. He had just let down another person on his list, and this was slowly starting to become some sort of habit of his.

The cars is driving like flies on the road, lights blinding him as he passes by. He had never liked the city-life, always enjoyed the calm and silent. His guilt is rising gradually as he comes farer and farer away from the white building, still hearing  _“Then there’s nothing left for me to do”_ echoing inside of his head.

When he comes home, he sees his mum lying unconscious on the couch, bottle being tripped as the red liquid flows out on the floor. For a moment he doesn’t feel that disliking emotion that he normally feels when he sees her sad and depressing face, but instead he feels pity. She’s even more pathetic than him, and that’s saying something.

He goes out to the kitchen, and there is a weird scent in the kitchen. He doesn’t know what it is, but it smells really disgusting. He feels that he’s extremely hungry, so he turns on the stove and then he boils some egg in the pot.

Since Gemma doesn’t cook anymore to him, he had to learn it himself. Usually he just makes a sandwich or something easy like that. It’s not that he doesn’t have the time; it’s just that he’s really lazy.

The eggs are almost dancing in the water because of the heat, and for just a second it looks like they are in pain. He knows he’s just being stupid as always, but he feels this urgent feeling to turn off the hotplate.

“Mum, you have to wake up!” he calls.

There’s no answer, but he’s not really that surprised.

“Mum, I’ve made you some dinner!” he shouts again, still not getting any answer.

He walks into the living room again, but she’s still asleep and it doesn’t look like she’s going to wake up any soon. He puts the plate with his sandwich on the table next to her, ignoring the screaming hunger in his belly. She needs it more than him, if she doesn’t eat anything, then she’ll have a massive headache, and then she’s going to whine at him even more than usually.

He puts on the song that’s playing silently on the radio in his room. It’s not really his taste of music, but it’s better than to hear the emptiness that’s crawling upon his walls.

He beats his index finger against his thigh, feels the bone that is slowly starting to stick out. Perhaps he was stupid to give the woman his food? She’s probably not going to eat it anyway as she disrelish everything that he touches.

He has to punch his belly that’s now crying; he feels bad for it. Harry always puts it through so much despondency, and he can’t imagine how alone it must feel like. There’s never any food that holds it company, and it’s being abused by its own owner.

Before he drifts of to sleep, a small tears slides down his cheek and he pretends like it’s not even there. But he can feel the whole world staring at him as it travels down his chin and then it finally hits the old pillow that’s been there since he was just a kid. The sentence from earlier that one of the boys said,  _‘You’re just a pathetic loser’_ , is replaying over and over again in his mind as the tear gets followed by more.

-

Beside their teacher there’s a blonde that smiles happily towards the class. He’s got white and shiny teeth, a bit short for his age, but still, his entire presence beams confidence and also a bit of hope. It’s been a long time since Harry last someone that could literally light up a whole room with just him entering it.

“Be quiet please,” Mrs Rowland says. “This is Niall, and he’s just moved here from Ireland. So I want everybody to be really nice to him as I’m certain that he’s a bit nervous.”

She points at the seat that’s free beside Harry, and when he notices it, his heart stops. His hands starts shaking as a sweat drop slides down his temple, he’s not used to someone sitting beside him. Ever since kindergarten he’s always been on his own, and Harry’s not very glad for changes.

“I’m Niall.” The blond lad says as he reaches out his hand.

He dries the sweat of his palms before he shakes the smaller hand that seems to fit in his bigger one perfectly.

“Harry.” He mumbles.

“Like the prince.”

“Like the prince.” He replies lazily before his eyes falls down on the floor, feeling a small blush crawling upon his cheeks.

It’s weird that someone is talking to him with a nice tone, not telling him how nasty or sad he is. He really does appreciate it, but he doesn’t want to scare away the bloke by him freaking out. When he looks up again, he meets two amazingly blue eyes. They’re shimmering prettily, and for only a second, he wants to take out those tiny stars that are captured in those night skies.

“You wanna hear something funny?” the Irish asks, his nose frowning like a rabbit.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I think that everybody here talks really weird, but you’re different from them. You talk extremely slowly, so I understand you much better than the rest of your class, and I like it.”

He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to laugh, because he didn’t find the joke that funny. Sure, he’s happy that the shorter lad can comprehend what it is that he’s actually saying, but he can’t find himself to say something that the other guy would find anything remotely amusingly.

“Your welcome.” He only responds, the blush becoming an even darker shade than before.

He’s greeted by a soft chuckle, and it sounds like music to Harry’s ears. It’s high, but at the same time really deep and low. There’s crinkles that appears beneath his eyes, and dimples beside the corners of his mouth. But he doesn’t seem to care that there’s thousands of eyes looking at them as he continues to laugh, the blue orbs getting blurry as he beats his hands against his thighs.

He wants to take a picture of this moment, seeing how happy the blonde looks like, and keep it in his heart forever. He doesn’t even care that he’s only known him for a little bit more than three minutes, because he’s decided that Niall is his new favourite person in the world.

-

Harry’s been noticing that Niall is just a five year old trapped into a seventeen year olds guy’s body. Sure he drinks and on certain occasions he also takes a smoke. But yet he is this lively little boy that clings on Harry whenever he gets the chance to, even jumping on his back so that he can carry him as he eats a lollipop on the way home from school.

“So have long have you been living here Haz?”

 _Haz,_ he likes the sound of someone giving him a nickname. He’s never had someone before who’s been bothering to figure out a name that will be the sign of their friendship, so he’s gleeful that Niall took the time to even make it up.

“I’ve always lived here, but I hope that next year I’ll have the cash to move out of here and start a whole new life.”

“We could move together into a flat and then we could be roommates!” Niall jumps excitedly.

“Maybe.” He smiles back as he sees the disappointment wash over the pale face.

“Yeah, better not to expect stuff to early.” He mumbles as he shifts his feet shamefully on the ground.

Harry doesn’t like this expression on Niall; it doesn’t fit the always otherwise merry boy. Whenever he smiles, and that’s a lot, it feels like Harry’s world is a bit brighter than before. He would even tolerate to spend the whole day with his mum if he can just get the lad to smile again.

“You know, I’d love to move into an apartment with you if I’d have the money to do it.” He says again, seeing the hard expression being exchanged into a soft grin as he throws his hands around Harry’s neck.

“Yeah, and then we could fill the whole fridge with candy and sodas.” He chuckles, still not letting go of his tight grip around the curly haired brunette.

He doesn’t continue to listen to him, only sees how his mouth changes to a grin and then to joy, and sometimes he even sticks out his tongue and wets his lip. He’s like a real child, making big expressions to show his emotions. But Harry likes it, he can’t deny that.

“I wish that you could come with me to my brother’s wedding back in Ireland.” He suddenly blurts out.

 _‘I wish so too’_ he thinks silently. He’s scared that when Niall’s going home to Ireland, he’s going to find some cute Irish guy that’s going to make him fall head over heals for him. He can even picture how their clothes will be ripped off aggressively as they have passionate sex at the back of church. Niall muttering some curses as he thrusts into the other boy, and Harry has to stop imagine it, because he feels the tears coming back again.

“But I’ll promise to text you as fast as I can. We can even talk to the phone for hours, but only if you want to of course.” He blushes, hiding his head in his hands as a small giggle escapes his lips.

“I’d love to.” Harry whispers inaudibly.

The older bloke looks up from his palms, crimson still covering his two baby cheeks. He sends Harry a toothy smile and he doesn’t throw his arms around the green-eyed again this time, instead he covers the bigger hand with his own as he lies down on the grass and looks up to the sun that’s creeping through the firs in the forest.

He’s grateful that he took Niall with him to his secret place that he and his father used to share. Lately the big black cloud that has been raining on him, feels like it’s finally beginning to disappear. Of course, whenever he comes home, he feels this giant lump in his throat, but when he’s at school, everything doesn’t feel as hopeless like before. The only thing that he regrets is that he’s the reason why Niall doesn’t have any other friends, but he doesn’t seem to care about it.

The smaller boy lifts up from the spot where he’s been resting in his blue dungaree and the white tee shirt. He points at the calm river that flows just a bit away from them. Harry used to bath there when he was a kid, but that was years ago.

Niall turns around and his bleached locks dances in the air as he grins happily.

“Haz, I want us to nude swim!” he says excitedly.

“You want us to do what exactly?” he gasps, not sure if he actually heard it right.

“Nude swim. You know, you take off your clothes and then you let your cock be free as you jumps into the water and swim… naked.” He explains.

“I know what nude swimming is. It’s just that you want us two to swim in that lake over there, naked, and together.” He says, still feeling really shocked.

“Yeah, I reckon that was what I just said. I think you need to examine your head Haz, because you seem to be a real nutter at the moment.” He laughs before he takes off his shirt, revealing his bare chest to Harry.

He has to hold his breath, because he wasn’t expecting it to be that muscular like it really is. He wants to draw his tongue over it, lick it while his saliva’s dripping down his pink nipple. Harry hopes that he hasn’t noticed him changing, because if he would know how attracted he is just now of his best friend, then he probably wouldn’t talk to him again.

“Come on now Haz, take of your shirt and swim with me. Because if you don’t, then I’ll throw you in with your clothes on.” He says with a serious expression on his face.

He does as he’s told, and it doesn’t even take them a minute before they jump down in the cold water. His gulps, and his fingers turn to ice. It didn’t look remotely as frostily as it actually is. The brunette feels a slight panic inside of his body, as he jumps up and down in the water to keep his heat.

“Damn, this wasn’t the greatest idea of mine!” Niall shouts before he crawls back on the ground again.

He takes Harry’s hand and draws him up too, before he puts a big towel around their backs. He can feel Niall’s skin touching his as he rest his head against Harry’s shoulder, and he doesn’t know if he’s just imagining it, but he’s certain that Niall places tiny feather kisses on his collarbone as he ghosts a smile against his naked chest and hums quietly, blond hair stuck on Harry’s cheek.

He decides that he thinks that the Irish is really adorable, and perhaps it’s okay that he crushes on Niall just a little bit. It’s not like it’s anyone’s business if he’s attracted to boys or not anyway.

-

“I’m sick Harry.”

He doesn’t know what to answer, don’t know what to do. He just sits down on the couch as his breath is captured in his throat, refuses to escape his lips.

His heart doesn’t beat much faster than ordinary, and his palms are like normal. Yet it feels like his inside is fainting, and it’s just this shell as a body he has that is still awake.

“It’s leukaemia, the doctors say. Cancer.”

He can’t comprehend the words, only hears them as they slip away as easily. The whole world seems a little darker and all his senses are decreasing strength. All those times that he said that he hoped she would die, feels like it’s another life. All he wants now is to hug her forever and tell her how much he loves her, never letting her go.

“Mum, are you going to die?” he whispers, scared of the actual answer.

“Yes.” She sobs before she falls down to the floor, tears hitting the floor as rocks.

His entire body is petrified, and he wishes that he could just do something. He feels like a fool for just standing there, staring at his crying mother who just told her only family member that she’s going to leave him too. And it’s then that it occurs to him, that he’s going to be all on his own from now on.

Harry pats her back comfortingly, and in that second without him even realising it, he changes from a boy, and becomes a man. 

“Do you want to share a box of ice cream with me… mum?” he mumbles, awkwardness filling the room.

“That would be nice… son.” She smiles as the tears streams down her rosy cheeks.

He rushes to the freezer and takes out the vanilla ice cream that he bought last week. He puts two spoons in the box before he puts it between them and takes a bite of it and presses it to her tiny nose. She laughs, and it doesn’t feel like she’s ever sold her soul to the wine that’s hiding in the fridge. He pretends that they’ve always been like this, enjoying each other’s company with no disease in their proximity.

They spend the rest of the night together, laughing, crying as the mother embraces her son tenderly. What they doesn't know is that they only have less than three months left until she'll leave him for good.

-

Emerald meets sapphire, a hazel curl stuck to the rosy cheek as the small fingers brushes it away. Niall’s pretty, not that normally pretty that you see every day, but he’s beautiful, like one of the million beautiful.

He can feel the pink lips being pressed against his neck as they leave the grey gravestone that the wind blows on coldly.

“Can we be at your place Ni? I don’t feel like going home tonight. It’s really lonely since, since mum died.” His voice cracks.

“Sure Haz.” The smaller bloke whispers silently as he entwines his fingers with Harry’s.

It takes a long car ride for them to reach Niall’s house, and a tear is hiding in Harry’s soul as his face rests against the dirty window. The thumb is rubbing his skin as he can feel Niall’s gaze being glued on him. Usually he would jump out of excitement for having his recognition, but now he’s just feeling indifferent about it.

When they enter the blonde’s room, a kiss is pressed against his neck again. This time though, he turns his head so that their lips are being pressed against each other.

The Irishman smells good, like fins and expensive cologne. But he tastes even better when his tongue dances with Harry’s like there is no tomorrow.

All he can think about is that he wants to touch him everywhere that is possible. He’s never been looking any more attractive to his green orbs, as he kisses him hungrily.

“I wanna feel you inside of me Haz.” Niall says vulnerably.

He doesn’t answer him with words, only unbuttons his trousers as he takes his own clothes of. When they’re both naked, he pushes the smaller body down on the old Pokémon sheets and presses his lips onto his belly.

A small giggle is escaping from Niall’s lips, and he looks up to him, seeing the crinkles beneath his eyes that he adores so much. It makes his heart hammer against his chest, and that warm feeling reappearing once again.

“It tickles.” He chuckles.

Harry captures the red-swollen lips with his own, a smile ghosting between them before he let them go again, seeing the lust screaming from the deep blue oceans.

“I’m going to turn you around now Ni, is that okay?”

The blonde only nods as his torso is pressed against Harry’s stomach. He digs his bitten nails into Niall’s hipbones, hearing him gasp as he enters him. They thrust in a slow pace before Harry speeds them up. He can hear tiny noises from Niall’s mouth as he’s enjoying the moment, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the whole world he decides.

Sweat drops is sliding down between their naked bodies, and he buries his fingers into the blond locks that’s glued onto his wet neck.

“I’m in love with you.” He hears his own voice whispering, yet it sounds like he’s shouting it in the silent night.

“I’m in love with you too silly.”

-

When he wakes up the next day, the sunlight is shining over the pale face that is sleeping on the white pillow beside his head. He understands that he isn’t alone like he thought he was, he’ll always have Niall by his side.

He’s the most beautiful person he has ever seen in his entire life, and he’s grateful to been given the gift to call the boy his. He doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve him, but he tries to not question it, as he’s never going to be good enough for him anyway. But he’s okay with that, because what matters is that Niall thinks that he is.

As he snuggles his nose into Niall’s neck, he forgets about the craved words on his wrists, the orange bottle with the blue pills, and the empty fountain pen that is hidden in his drawer. For the first time in his whole life, it feels like he can actually be happy again. As long as he still has Niall kept by his side, it will all be okay in the end.


End file.
